Rain slips through my fingers

Rain slips through my fingers

But slaps down hard

Upon my head

There is no escape

For the Albatross

But all the other birds

Seek shelter from the storm

They have to clear a space

As all the flying insects

Butterflies and Bumble Bees

Are the first to remain grounded

Waiting out the weather

Ready to engage in water damage

Reclamation

When it eases.

The Mozzies will be out for blood

Do anthills flood

Do they have defences

Is it only humans who delight

In building expensive houses

On a flood plain

Not just once

But over and over again

There is money in it for someone

But rarely the householder

Who rues the day

He was left with an Albatross

To hang around his neck

Sitting in a shelter

Like the old folks

Gazing out to sea

As the clouds kiss the horizon

Eating ham sandwiches

They brought from home

In a Tupperware box

Drinking hot tea from a thermos

Sitting side by side

Sharing a tartan car rug

Watching the world go by.

Feeling sorry for the homeless man

In the corner

With the dead bird on his head,

Reminiscing about a Python sketch

They once saw

At the Theatre Royal

Drury Lane in ‘74

When Elsie was carrying her baby

John Cleese stood on her toe.

But it didn’t spoil her enjoyment

Of the show

She was sure she could remember

An Albatross,

As I splashed by

Wading in the water

Pretending not to care.